


We're Not What We Used To Be (Let's Be What We Are)

by bella_my_clarke



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (it's a lil vague but definitely there), (make this a real tag pls), Canon Compliant, Canon Non-Binary Character, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Junoverse | Juno Steel Universe, Literally this is just a big soft makeout/sex scene, Loving Sex, Nonbinary Juno Steel, Nureyev participates in the Praise Juno Steel Like He Deserves challenge, Oral Sex, Other, POV Peter Nureyev, POV Third Person, Post-Episode: s03e01-02 Juno Steel and the Man in Glass, Trans Peter Nureyev, written by a sex-repulsed person so EMPHASIS ON THE SOFT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29572722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bella_my_clarke/pseuds/bella_my_clarke
Summary: “I missed you.”This catches Juno off guard a little, and he opens his mouth to say what Nureyev just knows is going to be more apologies, so he pushes on, “So, if it’s all the same to you, dear detective, I’d like to start spending less time on forgiven apologies and more on making up for the time we’ve lost.”Juno nods slowly and licks his lips, probably on instinct. Nureyev stares anyway. “Okay. Cool.”--or: the man in glass post-credits scene because i'm not a fucking coward
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 12
Kudos: 52





	We're Not What We Used To Be (Let's Be What We Are)

**Author's Note:**

> Do I think canon jupeter took things slower and that it was a healthy, smart decision? Absolutely. But also I wanted to write some tooth-rotting first night back together so we are simply ignoring that idea and making it healthy anyway
> 
> Also it's my first jupeter fic so be kind to me
> 
> (Title from 10/10 by Troye Sivan, which has BIG s3 jupeter vibes to me)

_There is nothing I want more than to stay._

“Nureyev?”

Pulling himself from his thoughts, Nureyev sees Juno looking at him like—well, like how Nureyev himself must’ve looked just now: equal parts hopeful and terrified, fighting every instinct to run because maybe this time, _this_ time, there’s no need to.

It makes Nureyev’s hands shake to witness it, though not enough to stop him from lifting one to Juno’s cheek. His stubble is prickly and still, after all this time, familiar. Maybe without meaning to, his lips part, the corner of them grazing Nureyev’s palm; he allows himself a moment to look at that mouth, remember how soft and pliant it had been once, how it pressed into a line whenever he was trying not to smile.

When he draws his eyes back to Juno’s, he notes with equal parts relief and satisfaction that they’ve gone wide. It makes his next words a little easier to get out. “I missed you.”

This catches Juno off guard a little, and he opens his mouth to say what Nureyev just knows is going to be more apologies, so he pushes on, “ _So,_ if it’s all the same to you, dear detective, I’d like to start spending less time on forgiven apologies and more on making up for the time we’ve lost.”

Juno nods slowly and licks his lips, probably on instinct. Nureyev stares anyway. “Okay. Cool.”

Despite himself, Nureyev’s mouth quirks up as he leans in to finally press their mouths together, and— _oh_. He thought he remembered what kissing Juno Steel felt like, from the few times he let himself replay the memories before filing them away, but whether it was the time apart or the changes they’ve gone through, this is anything but old. Juno is tender in a way he hadn’t quite been before—pulling Nureyev in slowly by his shirt before smoothing it down with light fingertips, deepening the kiss with a contented sigh, carding his fingers through Nureyev’s hair as if handling a delicate treasure.

And the way Juno _lingers_. It’s evident in every shift of their mouths, every placement of his hand, every noise he seemingly can’t help but make. His fingers linger when he tugs Nureyev into his lap, and on the skin he exposes as he torturously undoes Nureyev’s shirt. His eyes linger on Nureyev’s chest, his stomach, lower. And his mouth lingers absolutely _everywhere_ , leaving Nureyev unable to do anything but clutch at his shoulders and sink his teeth into his own bottom lip to stay quiet.

Juno’s lips press against Nureyev’s heart, and though it’s hardly more than a peck, he lingers here perhaps longest of all, tracing his fingers in nonsensical circles for what feels like years before he looks up. “I missed you, too,” he murmurs, and even his words seem to linger, floating in the air between them like an outstretched hand.

“Well, you needn’t miss me any longer,” Nureyev says, and though his limits are few and far between, he thinks he would break every one of them for that smile Juno’s offering him right now. “Now—let me take care of you?”

“A lady never rejects an offer like that,” Juno says, and they both snort a little at the blatant untruth of that as Juno pushes himself fully onto the bed and Nureyev crawls over to meet him, pushing him into the mattress immediately with kisses. Juno may have a tender streak, and Nureyev may love that new side of him more than he thought he could, but he also hasn’t kissed this lady in almost a year, and it’s made him what a good thief should never be—impatient.

By the way Juno scrabbles at Nureyev’s back with those big, calloused hands of his, he’s feeling a little impatient, too.

One hand remains secure at Juno’s face, recording every movement of that strong jaw for future _and_ present consideration, while the other skates down his side to slip under his sweater and settle against his hip. This is rewarded with a hitch of breath that, while small, makes something worryingly soft swell up into Nureyev’s throat.

Later, he’ll let himself bask in that warm feeling and the terrifying vulnerability of it, but for now he pulls back to tug at the shirt’s hem and says, “Off.”

Juno lifts an eyebrow. “Not even going to make up some poetic line to convince me? And here I thought you might be a gentleman.”

“I’ll be poetic when I see the proper material.” Juno snorts like a twelve-year-old boy at that, and Nureyev does _not_ find it endearing. Nor does he revel in the way Juno tenses beneath him when he leans over to scrape his teeth, just barely, behind his ear. “And I’m not sure _gentlemanly_ , dear detective, is the adjective you should be striving for moving forward.”

“I’ll show you adjectives,” he grumbles, but even if that line had made sense, it would be hard to land it right with him pulling off his shirt before the words are halfway out.

Nureyev politely sits back to let him get it over his head, thinking idly that as nice as button-ups are to not break the flow of a kiss, he would hardly give up the opportunity to watch Juno’s muscles move and contract as they’re revealed. There are faint scars all across the newly exposed skin, including twin stars on his shoulders, and Nureyev wants to trace every one of them with his hands and lips. Wants to show Juno that he sees them; that he understands, now, the hurt and shame and twisted pride in each one, and that he will never love him less for it.

“Well?” Juno says, smirking a little, and Nureyev realizes he’s been staring longer than necessary. Not that he’s going to admit to it, or apologize.

“Well, you never were a fan of my poetics anyway, were you?” he says airily. Juno pouts a little at that, small enough Nureyev knows it’s genuine, and he has to surge down to kiss the lady before he can get sappy because Juno is—god, he’s _cute_.

Juno’s hands tangle in Nureyev’s hair, natural as instinct, and it’s comfortably pleasant for a moment before he tugs, hard, and it quickly becomes the kind of pleasant that pulls a helpless noise from Nureyev’s throat. Juno, ever one to seize opportunities presented to him, uses the moment to slip his tongue into Nureyev’s mouth, running it over his teeth and coaxing him to join in.

He does, more than willingly. Juno tastes a little like the spices from dinner and a little like whiskey, but mostly he just tastes _good_ , in a way that quickly has Nureyev pressing against him with a whine. Closer, he wants to be closer, he wants—he wants—he _wants._

"Hey,” he manages to say between kisses, and distantly he’s a little embarrassed to realize he’s panting a little. “I thought I said— _ah_ ,” Juno stretches to plant an open-mouthed kiss on his jaw, and he loses his train of thought for a second, “I thought I was taking care of _you_.”

The smirk Juno offers hasn’t a single trace of remorse. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, Nureyev, but I don’t tend to do what I’m told.”

There’s a dare in Juno’s eyes that Nureyev is more than willing to satisfy. “Maybe you haven’t been asked convincingly enough yet.” He makes sure their eyes are locked before he adds, “But I’m sure you’ll be listening quite dutifully by the time I’m done with you.”

The blessing of being so close is that even if he weren’t looking for it, Juno’s reaction would be hard to miss. His whole body tightens with a sharp inhale, and he doesn’t even try to hide the way he stares at Nureyev’s lips and licks his own before drawing their eyes back together.

There’s both a request and a challenge in his eyes when he says, “Prove it.”

Something sharp and tingling sparks in Nureyev’s chest, not unlike the sensation he gets in those moments just before he escapes a heist: the feeling of having what he wants, knowing he could still lose it, and realizing that knowledge only makes the thrill of having it that much greater.

There’s also a very familiar sensation pooling in his stomach that reminds him he has the lady he’s in love with pinned beneath him and asking to be ruined, and he decides that one is perhaps more pressing.

He smiles, all teeth so Juno sees the predator in it. Then, with agonizingly slow movements, he trails his nails down the lady’s scarred, muscled arms to intertwine their fingers and pull his arms over his head. He looks so pretty like that, Nureyev allows himself a few moments to stare at the artistry, then a few more when Juno starts to squirm with impatience. Body lifted to keep only the barest bit of contact between them, Nureyev leans in to press his mouth to the skin just below Juno’s ear. “You’re so gorgeous sprawled out like this, darling, I could almost believe you were a goddess. I think I’ll have to worship you like one, just in case.”

The grip on Nureyev’s hands tightens, and he takes the cue to begin. He tugs on Juno’s earlobe gently, then brushes his lips over the sensitive skin under his jaw and down his neck, breathing heavily to send goosebumps following in his wake. There’s a spot near the base of Juno’s throat he remembers inspiring a rather enthusiastic reaction last time; he flicks his tongue against the skin to test this theory, and Juno’s breathing stutters immediately.

Nureyev smirks. Pauses to brush a thumb against the back of Juno’s hand, feel how their chests brush with each uneven breath. Then, for both their sakes, he closes the hair’s breadth of distance between them to leave a mark Juno won’t be likely to forget. He’s rewarded with a low groan that buzzes slightly against his lips; he moves to leave wet, lingering kisses across Juno’s collarbone and shoulder in an effort not to linger on how turned on that one noise makes him.

“So responsive,” he purrs; Juno whines in response, and it’s such a desperate noise he can’t help but drop his hips against Juno’s, teasing be damned. The pressure is delicious, as is the way Juno pushes up against him almost frantically; it’s enough to make him forget what he meant to say next, but thankfully, he’s always been an excellent improviser. “I don’t think there’s a single spot on your body I could touch and not tease something out of you, Juno. Nor is there a single spot I would be willing to leave unworshipped, if you asked.”

“Nu- Nureyev,” Juno pants, and his tone is melodious in its pleading. “Shit, you—I want—”

In response, Nureyev smashes their mouths together again, licking every whine out of his lady’s mouth with the sort of recklessness he’s rarely had access to but finds himself enjoying massively. It helps that Juno melts immediately under the attention, hooking his legs over Nureyev’s and squeezing his hands hard enough to hurt. His breathing is so uneven he’s struggling to kiss back properly, not that either of them cares: for Nureyev, it’s proof of the effect he’s having, and Juno seems quite happy to just gasp against Nureyev’s mouth as he’s taken apart.

When he finally has to come up for air, Nureyev pulls their intertwined arms a little higher to bump against the barred headboard. “Would you mind holding onto that for me, darling?” he breathes, working hard to keep his voice even. “I hardly think it would be fair to either of us to leave some of my best tools unutilized.”

Juno nods and squeezes Nureyev’s hands before he lets go, holding onto the headboard like an earthquake wouldn’t be enough to move him. He looks utterly undone, eye shining with a level of longing and awe one would expect when seeing the first bit of life in the galaxy blossoming into existence.

Later, Nureyev will complain about Juno’s awful habit of continuously making him so _soft_ when he’s trying to be alluring, but right now he brushes a thumb across the bumpy scar on Juno’s nose and over his eyepatch, grasping as if to pull it off but not going through with the action yet. He knows Juno has grown a lot since they last saw each other – more than he thought one person could manage in less than a year – but he still remembers the bitterness and loss in Juno’s face when he first saw the empty socket where his eye once was, how he kept touching the edges of that chasm with pursed lips and hands he insisted weren’t shaking.

“I’m fine,” Juno murmurs, looking equal parts impatient and fond. “It’s grown on me—uh, in the good way, I mean, not the mind-reading Martian tumor way.” Nureyev presses his lips together so he won’t smile, and Juno huffs. “Just take off the damn eyepatch, will ya?”

There’s a part of Nureyev that wants to oppose him just for the thrill of it, but he obediently pulls the eyepatch off and sets it aside. The area looks healthy – a knot of worry deep within him loosens – and he presses a small kiss to where the socket touches the corner of Juno’s nose, his browbone, his faint wrinkle lines, the socket itself. And when Juno crinkles his nose in faux disgust, he kisses that, too.

The tender part of him sated for the moment, Nureyev moves down Juno’s cheekbone – brushing just the corner of his mouth, to the lady’s annoyance – across his strong jaw, and down the curve of his neck to his chest. He runs his hands over all the brilliant skin there, then bends to add his mouth to the mix—not with any sort of direction yet, though he has a certain destination in mind.

If he were a more honest man, he’d admit he’s a little overwhelmed with the expanse of skin available to him, all of it begging to be touched and praised and kissed and _worshipped_.

But he is determined to keep good on his word, so even if the trail of his kisses is more of a senseless wandering and his hands shake sightly as they skitter along Juno’s sides, he adores and praises every bit of skin he can. Slowly, down the valley of his sternum, then frantic across his ribs, lingering at his navel until Juno starts to arch up expectantly and Nureyev has to give apology kisses up his stomach because _no, not yet, dear, be patient._

Juno starts to grumble at him, but it turns quickly to groans when Nureyev reaches his nipples. He rolls one between his fingers and the other between his teeth, marveling at how quickly they go hard under his ministrations. Once Juno seems properly breathless, he switches and slides his free hand down Juno’s side to press into his hip, hard enough to leave a bruise; Juno pushes into the touch encouragingly, murmuring senseless versions of _yes_ and _please_ and _more_.

Nureyev swallows those pleas with a kiss that’s more tooth than lip, though Juno hardly seems to be complaining. His arms, Nureyev notes as he trails his fingers up and down them, are tight to the point of shaking, like it’s taking all his self-control to hold onto the headboard like he was told.

Smirking, Nureyev pushes his hands into Juno’s hair and tugs his head up to change the angle of the kiss. He sucks Juno’s bottom lip into his mouth, bites it just hard enough to earn a gasp, soothes the spot with his tongue. Scrapes his fingers across that impossibly sharp jawline to hold his chin in place as he kisses him with as much furious affection as he can muster.

“You—you’re gonna—” Juno’s voice comes out utterly and deliciously broken; Nureyev wants to taste it, to mouth at every shattered syllable until there is no distinction between their voices, their bodies, their souls. “You’re gonna _kill_ me, N’reyev.”

“Never,” he replies; it comes out a little less teasing than he meant, a little too real.

There’s a stutter in Juno’s movements, and Nureyev pulls back to see something he can’t quite place in that one dark eye. He pauses, unsure if he should simply ignore it and move on, but finally says, “There’s very little I wouldn’t do if you asked, Juno; within a day I was giving you my greatest secret, and within weeks my trust. And if you wanted it, I would keep you in this bed until you could ask for nothing except to be ruined and rebuilt one more time.” Something catches in his throat, something trembling, and he swallows hard against it. “But what I will never do, no matter what you may ask, is become the knife at your throat.”

Juno’s lips part on a soft, barely-there exhale; there might be something shining in his eye, but neither addresses it. “Technically, I didn’t ask. For all the things you gave me, I mean. You did that all on your own.”

Nureyev smiles. “Call it a present to earn your trust.”

A small smile lifts the corner of Juno’s mouth. “You’re being sweet, so I’m not going to make a _but you can call_ me _anytime_ joke, but you should know I want to.”

“I believe that counts as making the joke, Juno.”

He hums noncommittally. “I’ve got lots of other bad lines, if you want me to make some properly. Like the one about how many places you can find Martian sand—"

Without his permission, Nureyev’s mouth starts to twist into a smile, and he can’t risk what laughing at such base humor would do to his suave reputation, so he pulls back to scrape his fingernails down Juno’s chest until they catch on his waistband. Juno, as he hoped, forgoes the one-liner in favor of tipping his head back on a groan. “Jesus, Nureyev, warn a lady.”

Biting back another smile, Nureyev says, “My apologies, detective. Would you like a warning before your pants come off, then?”

“Only if yours aren’t coming off, too,” he replies, eyes darting to Nureyev’s chest and traveling lower.

“If lack of reciprocation is what needs a warning, my dear, I think I can lay all your worries to rest for the near future.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re a sex god, we get it. Were you taking my pants off or what?”

He can’t help it; he bends down, kisses Juno lightly on the mouth. “I’ll get right on it.”

Once they’re both naked, Nureyev takes his time giving Juno’s hips and thighs the same treatment as his chest, dutifully ignoring the way his body is begging for the knife-sharp pleasure of friction and Juno is begging for…well, the same thing, really, though perhaps in less elegant words. Only when he’s finished sucking a mark into the sensitive skin near the crease of Juno’s knee does Nureyev get his mouth on him properly, and then he files away every bit of thought or sense that isn’t Juno Steel.

It’s not a difficult task, considering how much of Juno there is to fill him—trembling moans he makes no effort to hide; hips thrusting eagerly to bring them closer; the brush of thighs against cheeks as they squeeze, shift restlessly, squeeze again. Every point of contact between them feels like it could tear down the world with its intensity, and part of Nureyev wants that. What has the universe given him, besides nameless faces to steal from and run from? He’d happily trade it all, every burning scrap, for the wonder of Juno’s body pressed against his.

The desire is potent enough that Nureyev almost lets Juno touch him then, mouth watering at the thought of those rough hands grabbing at his hair, the scratch of nails against sheets as he’s pulled higher and higher. Alas, being offered Juno’s obedience on a silver platter is a rather potent drug, and he hasn’t gotten his high quite yet.

It’s enough, for now, to hear his name – _his_ name, not any of those pale silhouette he’s let the world catch a glimpse of – chanted amidst breathless curses, a prayer to a higher god than anyone has ever believed in. To answer that prayer with his fingernails dug into soft, kiss-bruised flesh and his mind flooded with one word, perhaps the truest word he’s ever spoken: _Juno. Juno. Juno._

When Juno comes apart, it’s with a bitten-off cry so visceral and honest it shorts out Nureyev’s mind for a moment. He recovers quickly, though, kissing gently up Juno’s torso as he works his way back into his body, whispering praise after praise into the sweaty skin.

“Oh god, Nureyev,” Juno rasps when they’re face to face. The way he looks at Nureyev is obscene, but not just in an erotic way; there’s something terrifyingly open there too, something raw and warm and bursting at the seams. “God. Jesus Christ. Let me touch you, _please._ ”

Nureyev can hardly breathe. “Yes, love, yes.”

Almost immediately, Juno’s hands are on his face, tracing his cheekbones and jaw and the corner of his mouth. He’s traded his earlier lingering for a shaking urgency that is still, somehow, gentle. It nearly makes Nureyev want to cry.

Juno slides a hand into Nureyev’s hair and pulls his face down to rest in his neck, the other hand tracing circles up and down his back. “You are….” he whispers, and laughs a little. “God, you’re like nothing else, Peter Nureyev.”

 _I have been many other things,_ Nureyev thinks, but he doesn’t say it, just smiles against Juno’s neck as the lady presses kisses into his hair. It’s such a rare thing for him, to be Peter Nureyev and nothing else, he sometimes forgets it’s possible. But Juno—he reminds him. Shows him there’s someone real beneath all the hiding.

Hands cradle his face to bring their mouths together once again, and Nureyev sighs softly into Juno’s mouth, thinking he’d be content to kiss him like this forever—lazy and sweet, their bodies pressed together and Juno’s calloused hands curling against his jaw.

Then Juno hooks his leg over Nureyev’s back and flips them over, and he decides there are at least a few other things he’d like to do for eternity.

Juno hovers above him, breath slightly ragged and sweat glistening on his dark skin, looking for all the world like an ancient Earth painting come to life. “Now,” he says, sideways smile growing the longer he looks at Nureyev. “What you said earlier. Something about reciprocation?”

“Glad to know how closely you pay attention when I speak,” Nureyev huffs, trying to seem unaffected by the hungry look in Juno’s eye and his muscled arms bracketing Nureyev’s head. Judging by the way Juno’s mouth presses together in an amused smile, it’s not successful, but he’ll allow it. Even a master thief’s tools of deception can only reach so far, and anyway, he hasn’t wanted to deceive Juno in a very long time.

“If you want me to listen to your monologues, you shouldn’t do them naked,” Juno says, shrugging. “And besides, even if I’m not a good listener, I hear I’m excellent at holding up my end of a deal.” He raises his eyebrows, dropping his gaze shamelessly to however much of Nureyev’s body he can see before catching his eye again. “You want me to keep that streak going?”

As if a universe exists where Nureyev would say no to him right now. “Reciprocate away, darling.”

Unlike Nureyev, Juno has a one-track mind as he moves down his body; he presses a kiss to Nureyev’s collarbone, the scar under his breast, his stomach, the jut of his hip, and then he’s between his thighs.

He was never a patient one, that Juno; it’s something Nureyev wasn’t willing to admit he found endearing when they first met, even to himself, but now he’d yell it on every rooftop if it means Juno will keep using his mouth like _that_.

It’s maddening, how he seems to know the exact ways to dissolve all Nureyev’s bravado and charm into nothing but want. Maddening, but also cozy, somehow. Warm, like settling by the fireplace in a home you know is yours, and yours to keep.

Nureyev buries his hands in Juno’s hair to steady himself; Juno groans against him, which has the opposite effect Nureyev was going for, but he’s already become preoccupied with grabbing fistfuls of soft curls and tugging to hear that sound again.

He does, and has a moment to feel smug before Juno brings up a thumb to work in tandem with his mouth, and then he doesn’t hear anything but the rush of blood in his ears until, with his head thrown back and his heart opened up for the whole world to see, he shatters gratefully into pieces.

“Nureyev? You still with me?” Juno’s voice is teasing and a little tender; there’s a hand brushing back the hair stuck to Nureyev’s forehead. He opens his eyes and there he is, Juno Steel, smiling down at him with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Always,” Nureyev murmurs; his voice won’t come out any louder, and besides, this is only for Juno to hear. “Sorry, love, I must’ve drifted for a moment.”

“Don’t be sorry, that’s a compliment when I’m the one making you drift.” He kisses Nureyev for a few moments, soft and slow, then presses his lips to his cheek. “Let’s get cleaned up, and then we can…. Uh, I mean. You can…. Sheets. We’ll change the sheets.”

Nureyev raises his eyebrows but doesn’t press. They clean each other up and change the sheets as Juno suggested, pull their underwear back on, and then Juno stands by his dresser awkwardly. Waiting.

With a patient sigh – does Juno really think he doesn’t know what this is about? – Nureyev says, “You can just ask, Juno.”

He looks about to protest, then visibly resists the old habit. “I wondered—I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s totally fine. Even though I apologized, and you forgave me…I know what it’s like, to be reminded of a shitty memory, even when it’s not the same situation. I shouldn’t have left you to wake up alone the first time, and I swear to god I’m going to do everything I can to make sure there isn’t another time, but that doesn’t mean it won’t feel like there will be. And if you’re not ready now, or…ever, even, I get that. Obviously I’d _prefer_ —but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you feel comfortable—”

“Juno. You’re rambling.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” He breathes in and out once, slowly. “Would you—do you wanna stay? For the night.”

There’s some truth to what Juno said, Nureyev knows, long-winded monologue notwithstanding. He doesn’t think Juno will leave him in the night—if nothing else, this is his room, and they’re also currently in space, so there’s nowhere to go. But the weight of that lonely morning still presses on Nureyev more often than he likes to admit, and lying beside Juno again could bring that memory too far forward to ignore.

As diligent as Nureyev is about knowing every outcome, there’s no way to guarantee how this will turn out. This is the moment, then, where he has to decide: does he trust Juno Steel? Not just with heists, or secrets, but his heart?

Nureyev wouldn’t be much of a thief if he trusted easily, especially after a betrayal; better, usually, to keep his cards to himself until it can only be a winning hand. But he hasn’t gotten as far as he has with only skepticism. At the heart of it all, he has survived every impossible job because, more than anything else, he trusts his instincts. And when Peter Nureyev looks at Juno Steel, every single instinct he has says that’s where he’s supposed to be.

He swallows hard, forcing himself to let his voice shake the way it wants to. “I would like that very much.”

Juno sags with a relieved smile; if this ends in flames, Nureyev thinks, it will have been worth it for just that one smile. “Okay. Do you need to borrow something to sleep in, then? Or I guess your room is just down the hall, if you’d rather do that.”

“Yours should be fine; no need to put in any more effort than what’s absolutely necessary.” He keeps his voice casual, but his heart is tingling at the idea of falling asleep in Juno’s clothes, of waking up in Juno’s bed, of walking into breakfast from Juno’s room. Of the world knowing that he and Juno mean something to each other.

For a man who has rarely belonged to anyone or anything, even himself…it’s almost too much to bear.

Juno hands him some shorts and a t-shirt with a laser-sized hole in the stomach; Nureyev starts to ask about it, but Juno shrugs and says, “No idea,” which only gives him more questions. They’re not likely to get answered, though, so he dresses – the shorts hang low on his hips, and the shirt fits him like an oversized crop top – as Juno gets into a similar set of sleepwear, and then they head into the bathroom together.

Nureyev leaves his jewelry in a careful pile on the sink next to Juno’s and wipes off his (hopelessly smeared) makeup best as he can with Juno’s half-dried pack of makeup wipes. After a minute or two of rummaging, Juno finds an extra toothbrush for him and they brush their teeth side by side; Nureyev tries not to stare at Juno’s sleepy face in the mirror too much, but it’s a lot to ask when his eyebrows are scrunched together with concentration and he keeps having to push his hair out of his face.

When they finish their nighttime routines and get under the blankets, there’s a little bit of arguing and adjusting until they get in a position they like—facing each other, Juno’s nose against Nureyev’s neck and their legs slotted together so Nureyev can have one thrown over Juno’s hip. It’s possessive, he knows, and a little paranoid besides, but as happy as he is right now, he’s also both of those things. It’s sort of his nature to be.

“Shhh,” Juno murmurs, muffled against his neck.

He slides a hand into the lady’s hair. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking. _Loudly_ , too. Didn’t even need some old Martian junk to hear it.”

“My dearest apologies, detective. I’ll just lower the volume on my mind, then, as all humans can.”

“Thanks.” There’s something else, too, but he snuggles closer to Nureyev as he says it and it ends up sounding like a vaguely affectionate grunt.

“What was that, dear?”

There’s a pause, a little longer than Nureyev expected, before Juno turns his head to be heard. “Love you.”

_Oh._

Slowly, he runs a hand up and down Juno’s back, pushing his nose into those thick curls to remind himself this is real. “Love you, too,” he whispers at last.

A widening smile presses against Nureyev’s collarbone; he feels it all the way through him. “Awesome. Well, night, Nureyev. See you when I wake up.”

There’s no way, in this position, for Juno to see the wetness building in Nureyev’s eyes. He hides his face in the lady’s hair anyway, just in case. “See you then, Juno.”

Sunlight doesn’t stream in the window when Nureyev opens his eyes; it would require either a miracle or a curse for that, considering they’re not currently anywhere near the sun. This is the first difference he notices between now and that morning in the hotel, and even though it doesn’t actually mean anything, he takes a long, steadying breath of relief.

A weight moves with him, and _this_ difference means everything, really: Juno Steel, half on top of him, slow breaths tickling his throat and pressing their chests gently together with each inhale.

He’s here. He stayed.

_He stayed he stayed he stayed he stayed he stayed._

Had Juno’s face been visible, Nureyev might’ve deigned to do nothing but stare at it for a while, strict self-schedule be damned. Alas, the most he can see is his lady’s hair, and the clock’s neon red numbers are glaring at him – did he really sleep that long without interruption? – so he nudges Juno’s shoulder gently. “Wake up, darling.”

Juno grumbles and shifts closer, clearly still half-asleep, and Nureyev stifles a chuckle. He truly is grumpy from the moment he wakes. “Good morning to you, too, Juno. Now come on, we need to get up.”

“ _Need_ is such a strong word,” Juno says, drawing light circles on Nureyev’s shoulder. “We just finished a huge mission; I don’t think Buddy will care if we lounge around a little.”

“Even if that’s true, we still need to eat, which means I need to get ready.”

Another petulant groan, then Juno lifts his head so their gazes can meet. His eyes are still drooping with sleep, but they seem to get brighter when he looks at Nureyev. “Hey there.”

Nureyev laughs a little. “Hello, Juno.”

Propping himself up a little more, Juno leans to drop a quick kiss on Nureyev’s lips. “Did you sleep okay?”

This is blatant stalling, but Juno is too beautiful in the dim light for Nureyev not to indulge him. “Yes. Oddly well, actually.”

“You’re welcome for that.” Nureyev rolls his eyes, which just makes him grin. “I did, too, by the way. So thanks.”

Resisting a second eye roll, Nureyev fits a hand around Juno’s neck to pull him down for a longer kiss. The lady goes willingly, sighing into his mouth like he’d been holding his breath for this moment all along. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling.

A little whine escapes Juno’s mouth when Nureyev pulls away, and he has an urge both to gently kiss Juno’s nose and to drag him back in until he whines for another reason entirely. He opts for the first one, only because he knows he lacks the self-control to ever get out of bed if they start kissing for real.

“I meant it when I said we needed to get up, Juno,” he says apologetically, starting to sneak out from under Juno’s weight. The lady clings to him for a moment before he realizes Nureyev means it, then dramatically rolls over onto his back to let him up. “Come on, we still have time to get breakfast before Vespa sequesters the kitchen for lunch prep.”

Juno narrows his eyes in thought for a moment, then finally grabs the hand Nureyev is offering and gets to his feet. “All right, fine, let’s go eat.” He holds Nureyev’s gaze for a moment, then must see something there that makes him look down, biting his nip nervously. “I, uh—I just wanted to say, I meant everything I said last night. I hope you know that.”

It takes physical effort for Nureyev to raise his eyebrows in a faux question instead of breaking out in a smile like he wants. “Anything in particular you want me to remember?”

He huffs. “Don’t tease, you know what I mean.”

“I truly don’t think I do,” Nureyev lies. “Remind me?”

Juno gives him a look, then makes a show of pretending to think about it. “I’m good at reciprocating in sex?”

“No, I think it was something else.”

“I’m an asshole?”

“True, but no.”

“I missed you?”

Nureyev’s mouth twitches upwards, just barely. “Not quite.”

“I mean, I’m sure I said _plenty_ of things last night you might not want me to repeat at this exact moment—”

“Juno.”

“All right, all right.” He brushes his fingers across Nureyev’s cheek, delicate as the petals of a rose. “I love you.”

There’s no point, really, in hiding his smile after words like that, and Peter Nureyev has never been one to do anything without purpose. So it’s with a smile, the kind that hardly shows his teeth but surely exposes every inch of his heart, that he says, “I know.”

And he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Rumor has it that when you comment on this fic juno steel will give u a kiss on the forehead. I know I definitely will if he doesn't
> 
> [@adhduck on tumblr and @itqueer on tiktok if y'all wanna see more of my chaos]


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